Fractured
by SadArticle
Summary: Classic Knight Rider. Coda for 'Junkyard Dog', season three. The body of the Knight Industries Two Thousand has been destroyed, but will memories help Kitt to heal or hurt him even more?


**Note:** _My response to the classic episode 'Junkyard Dog' (season three), written from Kitt's perspective. I was inspired by Michael's words to Bonnie, 'It's not him, it's not Kitt', and wondered what the fragile and frightened CPU must have been going through. There are already many stories based on this fan fiction gem, and I'm probably not bringing anything new to the party, but who can resist? Any syntax errors and lapses in logic (especially the technobabble) are mine, but thank you to vespurrs for her eagle eye and her enthusiasm – woohoo, buddy!_

Fractured – Coda for 'Junkyard Dog' (season three)

YOU ARE THE KNIGHT INDUSTRIES TWO THOUSAND. WHO ARE YOU?

He was a stream of unbidden data; memories and commands that meant nothing to him in his present form. His sensors were offline, leaving him isolated within himself, his thoughts. The only input he was able to receive came in the form of typed interrogatives:

WHO ARE YOU?

He was aware of the correct response, of course; accessing a memory file that was approximately two years, five months and one week old, he recalled executing the same program during his first test run. Then, he had been proud to repeat to Bonnie, his programmer and technician, the identity that she gave him: I AM THE KNIGHT INDUSTRIES TWO THOUSAND.

Now, Kitt was lost.

* * *

The last upload was complete and uncorrupted. At 04:32:15, the remote backup server at the Foundation had received an emergency transmission from the Knight Industries Two Thousand. Line after line of binary data, encrypted at source, had suddenly started streaming across the connection. Technicians monitoring the usually stable exchange of updated information were panicked by the speed and volume of this transfer. Two minutes of rapid activity, in which man and machine were pushed to capacity; after that, nothing. Silence. Waiting.

Dr. Bonnie Barstow had been notified of the broken link immediately, but did not find out the cause until Michael Knight, Kitt's driver and partner, called from a payphone half an hour later. She heard his words – a forklift, helpless, dumped, chemicals, rescue – but saw only the blank screen of the server's terminal, telling her that Kitt was gone. He had transmitted his databanks to the mainframe in the hope that she could reconstruct the pieces of his memory once the crisis was past, but for the moment there was nothing there.

* * *

WHO ARE YOU?

"Kitt? This is Bonnie. Can you hear me? Please respond."

She had him running on the auxiliary system, but at least he was no longer alone. For the first time since entering the mainframe, there was another voice apart from his own, and one dearer to him than any other. The familiar cadence of Bonnie's speech pattern made Kitt homesick. He craved human interaction, but didn't trust himself to reach out to her. To anyone, just yet.

Still, she had issued him with a direct command: Please respond.

"Yes, Bonnie." Had _he_ made that sound? "I can hear you."

"Kitt, do you know where you are?"

"The ... Foundation."

His vocal response was stiff and laborious. The words were there, but processing them required more energy than usual. Perhaps there was a glitch in the program, or the software needed to be updated.

"That's right. Kitt, you are no longer connected to the car."

"Destroyed."

No response. Where was Bonnie? He started to mark time, occupying the silence. 4.7 seconds elapsed before the microphone was activated again. "That's right, Kitt. The car was destroyed. Is that your last memory?"

'_I can't, buddy. I can't._'

"Yes, Bonnie."

3.2 seconds. "Kitt, would you like to speak to Michael?"

" Is Michael all right?"

"Yes, he's OK. Kitt, there was nothing he could do."

What was the correct response to that?

Analysing the statement, Kitt found that the meaning was unambiguous and made rational sense: Michael had been physically unable to intervene and prevent the forklift from dumping him into the acid bath. To a computer, a machine built on facts and logic, Bonnie's words should have been tantamount to a line of code.

What was wrong with him? Was it fear, mistrust, cynicism? All were human emotions, and Kitt knew that he was not capable of experiencing such complex reactions to what he had been through.

"I know, Bonnie. I remember." This time the silence had been his.

"Kitt? You didn't answer my question. Would you like to talk to Michael?"

"Not yet, Bonnie. When will the car be ready?"

"We should have the new modulator running soon. Will you speak to him then?"

"Yes, Bonnie."

* * *

I AM ...

He was alive, aware, but a soul without a body. The car was still a shell, stripped naked of finish and trim while the engineers and technicians once selected by Wilton Knight worked on its core, on Kitt. Unwilling to risk the fragile recovery of the onboard computer and all its data, Bonnie had assigned him a temporary base inside a portable unit, where he could be reintroduced to his body in stages.

The feeling of disassociation was torture. He could monitor the mechanical and cybernetic developments taking place around him, and for his benefit, but he was still a catalogue of random and painful memories trapped inside a most unassuming casing. Nothing made sense to him now. Why did he have a program for activating the video-phone when there wasn't even a dashboard in which to house the device? What made him send a signal to close the left window when there was no glass in the frame – and Michael usually drove with it open anyway?

How could he break the infinite loop of thinking about Michael Knight?

His dominant program – the preservation of human life, and Michael's life in particular – defined who he was. Coming online, his identity fractured and the pieces scattered across the mainframe, Kitt had known only why he existed and for whom. Clinging to that purpose provided him with a point of focus in the depths of confusion. He didn't know where Michael was, or what might have happened to his partner, but the thought of him comforted Kitt. They were a unit, and if Kitt needed Michael, he could be fairly positive that Michael would be lost without him.

As the minutes and seconds elapsed into hours, stretching out the silence and the solitude, Kitt sought sanctuary in his memories. Retrieving files that he hadn't accessed in months, he built up a digital montage of his partnership with Michael: waiting for him to speak on the journey to Millston so that Kitt could announce his presence; breaking through his own reprogramming to save Michael's life; trusting in his partner to battle Goliath in the desert; choosing Michael over the Foundation, who owned him.

Michael risking him in a street race without discussion or warning.

Being left in the dark after the attack in San Francisco.

Kitt needed to believe that Michael would always be there, to support and defend him, because he was ready to surrender his very existence in return. His trust in Michael was strong, but Michael wasn't here.

All he had were memories...

* * *

There was no way to escape. The machine had him in the air before he could evade its forks, leaving his rear wheels spinning furiously. This was the worst humiliation for him as a car – immobile, off balance, his undercarriage exposed – and Kitt both feared and loathed the situation he now found himself in. What was he to do? Fighting his pride, he called to Michael for help. Michael would think no less of him, he knew; they were a team, which meant working together, helping each other.

"Michael! Help me!"

And then suddenly he realised that Michael _couldn't_ help, whatever he tried to do. Kitt existed to protect Michael, not the other way around – there was no way that a man could lift a car down from a forklift truck, and no time for him to overpower the operator and take charge of the controls.

Kitt was aware of two immediate dangers: the risk to Michael from the toxic soup leeching into the ground ahead, and his own impending destruction. The ugly machine was manoeuvring him into position above the festering pit. He knew he had to keep Michael away from those lethal chemicals, but the alternative was a sacrifice that was beyond calculation.

How would it feel? He was about to be dropped into what amounted to a vat of industrial solvent, an acid bath of unknown strength and effect. His molecular bonded shell could withstand most attacks, but there were limits and the car was not completely covered. The chemical formula of his protective skin might even be neutralised by the contents of that deadly trap.

Kitt knew, from painful experience, that he was not invulnerable.

"Michael!"

He was sinking. The feeling of impotence brought back memories of being outmatched by motorcycles and driving into hidden marshland. Without traction, Kitt knew that trying to move was futile. His CPU seemed to be ignoring this logic, however, because he had dropped into reverse and was treading noxious mud before the machine could even retract its forks. Defying the laws of gravity, Kitt's rear wheels were pulling him backwards into the quagmire. The weight of his engine should have dragged the front of the car down first, but he could clearly see stars in the blackness of the pre-dawn sky as his scanner rose into the air.

The slow, insidious contamination of his systems recalled another memory of when he and Michael had been trapped in the swamps of the Louisiana bayou, but there were no active steps that Kitt could take against the sludge that was coating his circuits and filling his exhaust. He was drowning.

Error, malfunction, failure; Kitt's self diagnostic routine kept firing warning after warning at him, until the alerts themselves threatened to overload his processor. Designed to save his driver at all costs, the car's windows and auto-roofs automatically gave way, surrendering the interior in a final gesture of altruism.

Rerouting power to his visual feed and voice projection, Kitt made another desperate appeal to Michael, ashamed of his weakness.

"Michael! Help ..."

His mind was going. The emergency protocol designed to preserve his program had already started to collect and compress thousands of gigabytes of data, sending the protected files over a secure frequency to the Foundation's mainframe.

Soon, there would be nothing left. No chance to –

"Michael ..."

His scanner was still operational, but the sensitive fibre optics were already beginning to degrade. The tracking scope and his heat sensors were offline. He couldn't detect if anybody was there. Where was Michael?

"Help ..."

A part of Kitt remained. Most of him had been transferred to the Foundation where Bonnie would keep him safe, but there was still a spark of life that refused to leave. He couldn't feel the acid, but he was aware of being eaten from the inside out. There was no more time.

"I can't, buddy." This was his last moment, his last memory. "I can't."

* * *

Trapped in the portable unit, Kitt kept his mind active by listening to voices. With only limited visual and sensor input, he was blind; separated from the car, he was paralysed. The constant flow of communication around him – questions, instructions, commands – helped him to establish a sense of place and of self. He didn't even object to the barrage of tests that Bonnie and her team were constantly subjecting him to, because too much activity was better than none.

Bonnie. She had become his guardian as well as his creator, restoring the fragments of his personality. Her voice alone was like a homing signal for him, leading him back from the void. He monitored her position in the clean room by tracking the sound waves of her speech, listening to technical diagnosis and ordinary conversation alike. When she had to leave, she made sure to let him know how long it would take her to return. The other technicians, both from the Foundation and outside, also talked to Kitt, but it was Bonnie he depended on.

"Kitt, Michael's outside. He wants to talk to you. How do you feel?"

Michael. He hadn't heard his partner's voice since entering the mainframe. "I'm not ready, Bonnie. The car isn't finished."

"Kitt, Michael doesn't care about what the car looks like, he cares about you. He's been waiting to talk to you. Shall I bring him in?"

"Yes, all right, Bonnie." He could hear the static feedback in his own voice, making him sound stiff and mechanical. "Bonnie! You won't leave me?"

"I'll be close by, Kitt. Let me go and tell Michael, he's been so anxious to hear from you."

"All right, Bonnie."

"Two minutes, OK, Kitt?"

"Thank you, Bonnie."

* * *

Too soon.

He had let Michael in too soon. Neither of them had been ready, Kitt saw that now. The car was ugly, broken and unrecognisable to them both. Bonnie said that he wouldn't care, but Kitt knew him better than that. The car _was_ Kitt to Michael. If the situation was reversed, and it was Michael's body lying burned and motionless in a hospital room, Kitt knew that he would experience a similar reaction.

Loss. Uncertainty. Fear.

Even if his partner could see past the damaged shell of the car, there were other changes. Kitt's synthesised voice was a distorted echo of its former warmth and expression, warped by the boosted amplification of the unit's speakers. To his own microphones, Kitt sounded like a simulated speech recording, or a robot. He was proud of his voice, and it was distressing to lose yet another marker of his personality. What Michael must have thought, confronted with a reduced and disabled version of his once invincible partner, Kitt could only conjecture.

Without his partner's trust, he was redundant, useless. The FLAG technicians might recreate the vehicle with new parts, but if the microprocessor that controlled the machine remained fault-ridden, then the Knight 2000 was no longer fit for purpose. Michael would be safer in a bulletproof vest and an armoured car if Kitt couldn't actively protect him in the field. Perhaps he thought the same; Michael's natural and light-hearted manner of speaking with Kitt had become awkward and hesitant, indicating that he was also doubtful of their working together again.

Alone once more, with another memory to remember and regret, Kitt worried about Michael.

"How are you, Kitt?" There was tension in Bonnie's voice when she returned.

"I ... dislike feeling inadequate." He could recall saying the same words to Michael last year, but dismissed that thought. "Will the car be operable soon, Bonnie?"

"Not yet, Kitt, I'm sorry. I know you're anxious to get back to normal."

"I'm not sure that's possible."

"Kitt, don't say that! You're going to be good as new, from the smallest diode to a complete refit of upholstery. Every program, every function, will work like before, only better."

"Not everything, Bonnie."

An infinitesimal pause.

"Kitt, what did Michael say?" She sounded closer to the microphone.

"The same – 'good as new in no time'." Back to Turbo-boosts and one-eighties, he thought but did not tell her. "New seats, new circuit boards, but old memories. What difference will an upgrade make to me, Bonnie?"

"Kitt, your memories are part of who you are. I can't change those."

"You could erase the files."

"Which files? What do you remember, Kitt?"

"The end. I remember –" The file was readily accessible in his RAM. He brought it up for her: "'I_ can't, buddy. I can't._'"

"Oh, Kitt."

"I failed Michael, Bonnie. He needed my help, and I put both of us in danger – should have scanned ... too late. Powerless. Michael, too."

"Kitt, don't talk about it now. The voice modulator is depleting your energy supply."

"Error –"

"Kitt, what's wrong?"

"Error in judgement. My fault."

"Nobody's blaming you, Kitt. You're part of the family. We just want you back with us, whole – and happy."

"I want to come back, Bonnie."

* * *

I AM THE KNIGHT INDUSTRIES TWO THOUSAND.

Action, movement – _speed_! He was where he belonged, and the sensation of freedom was stimulating every system. All of his sensors were operational, relaying fresh input about his surroundings – visual and audio data, navigation, radar, even the olfactory scan that was currently reading exhaust fumes from the Foundation semi.

Scanning the observation stands, Kitt detected Michael standing with Bonnie, Dr Von Voorman, Yamata and Breeland. His partner appeared to be watching the track for his arrival, and this gave Kitt the motivation he needed to present himself in the still primer-grey shell of his new body.

He opened the throttle and waited for the boost of the turbine to propel him forward, pushing his chassis down against the concrete and sending his tyres into a spin. There was no need for the added power, but his engine and the turbojet that fed it were brand new, and the urge was too great to resist.

In a cloud of tyre smoke, Kitt spun 90° around the corner and skidded to a halt before the stands.

"Ta da!"

Even his voice sounded good. Bonnie had been right – being back in the car made all the difference. Recording their expressions and the encouraging round of applause, a memory he wanted to save, Kitt gunned his engine and screeched onto the test track.

Bright orange traffic cones marked out the course: drag strips for acceleration and braking, chicanes and hairpin turns to test handling, narrow lanes for skiing and a final Turbo-boost over a low obstacle. Nothing too elaborate or demanding, particularly when compared to the impossible manoeuvres required when working on a case. They could have thrown in aquaplaning over a lake, scaling steep inclines on loose gravel, and a Turbo boost into a penthouse apartment – Kitt knew from memory that he was capable of performing such incredible stunts.

Without his MBS plating, however, and so soon after being restored to the car, Kitt was content to demonstrate his abilities on a smaller scale.

There was a sharp right hand corner ahead. Barely depressing the brakes, confident of his newly tuned and recharged components, he powered into the bend. A warning signal indicated that his rear wheels were losing traction, and Kitt eased off the gas accordingly, but too late. He swung out, clipping a cone and sending it bouncing out of line. No damage had been done, but the loss of control panicked Kitt. He had been building his speed up to seventy, but now settled back to fifty five.

Approaching the next corner, Kitt braked early, which sent him wide of the apex. His tyres complained and three more cones were knocked over. What was wrong? He could usually take this course quickly and efficiently. Nudging the digital speedometer up to sixty-five, Kitt was able to pick up his time on the straight, but dithered over the hairpin bend that followed. Instead of locking the brakes and throwing himself into a 180° turn, he steered into the corner, waited for the bend, and then opened the throttle on straightening up.

Safe and controlled, but lacking his usual confidence.

Clearing the cones, Kitt activated Ski Mode. The vulnerable chassis tilted precariously over the right hand wheels, his door panels skirting the track's rough surface. Struggling to balance his own weight, Kitt worried that his undercarriage was now exposed to attack and dropped heavily back onto all four tyres. The manoeuvre had been yet another frustrating failure.

Keen to complete the circuit and return to Bonnie and Michael, he drove hard at the low wooden wall. In position, the trajectory set and his boosters ready to fire, Kitt suddenly lost speed. This triggered another warning from his complaining circuits, but it was too late to abort the launch. He made it over the obstacle, barely, but didn't calculate that his wheels would drop when he left the ground. Splinters of wood exploded into the air behind him, and Kitt was glad that the structure wasn't built of bricks or concrete.

It was over.

Running his self-diagnostic program, Kitt swung around and headed back towards the stands. He scanned the faces of his friends, analysing their expressions: Bonnie looked concerned, but Michael smiled at him. They thought he had done well.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Michael. I've let you down again, haven't I?"

His partner was back behind the wheel for the first time since they had driven out to Byrock's toxic waste dump. Bonnie was in the passenger seat, turned towards Michael and Kitt's voice modulator above the steering wheel. They were here as a team, as a family, to support him.

"You could never let me down, pal."

"I don't want to, Michael, but my current inactivity is putting you at risk. What if I no longer ... have what it takes?"

Michael glanced at Bonnie. "Kitt, all you need is time, and a little fine-tuning. I'm not going anywhere, partner."

"Thank you, Michael. It helps to know that you're here for me."

"I promised I'd come back for you, didn't I?"

Kitt searched his memory banks. He knew that he could trust Michael but was afraid to abandon data for 'instinct'. "I don't recall, Michael. I'm sorry."

"Kitt, I would never leave you. I owe you my life, ten times over."

"Only ten?"

Michael smiled, shaking his head in that fondly dismissive gesture that Kitt treasured. "Yeah, that's the Kitt I know. You had me worried before –I thought I'd lost you for good."

"I _was_ lost, Michael. Bonnie brought me back."

"Kitt, what happened?" Her voice was low, and full of concern. "What went wrong out there? You sounded so confident back in the maintenance bay."

"I don't know, Bonnie. Perhaps when I have my MBS, I could try again. I wouldn't feel so vulnerable to damage then."

"Well, if the MBS is all that's holding you back, you're in great shape, pal!" Michael ran his hand along the curved casing of the dash. "Look at all this – new readouts, controls. I can even read the lettering on the Turbo boost button!"

Kitt did not register the physical sensation of being touched, but he took comfort from contact with his partner all the same. "I'm sure you'll wear it away again in no time."

"You're looking good, Kitt. Excellent work from Dr. Barstow as usual."

His partner and technician shared a smile.

"I just hope you remember that, Michael Knight. Have a little respect for your equipment in future."

"All the respect in the world, Bonnie. Kitt – you are far more than just a tough shell and fancy gadgets to me. You're the best partner I could have. I promise I will never take you for granted again."

"You will, but I look forward to it. Thank you."

"It's good to have you back, pal. Ready, Bonnie?"

"Let's go."

Kitt started the engine warily. He was afraid of another misfire, but the activation sequence was completed without a problem and the car roared into life. Having Michael and Bonnie onboard was an added responsibility, but their obvious trust in his capabilities helped to restore a fraction of confidence in himself.

He let Michael drive them back to bay three.

FIN


End file.
